


A Good Eye

by thinkaboutsailing



Category: Little Women (2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkaboutsailing/pseuds/thinkaboutsailing
Summary: At one point, he kissed her wildly, and Amy threw herself into him like she had in blue that day in France, forceful and laughing and in love with him, as she always had been.
Relationships: Friedrich Bhaer/Josephine March, Theodore Laurence/Amy March
Comments: 10
Kudos: 168





	A Good Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a party hardly ever goes the way it is planned](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164213) by [middlemarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch). 



“Mrs. Laurence, how do you throw such an excellent soirée?” His voice was at her ear, a lovely interruption to the reverie she found herself in, gazing happily upon the friends and neighbors gathered in the ballroom that Amy was amused by and delighted to own. 

“I have a good eye,” she responded, running her hand down Laurie’s arm, pulling him gently next to her. 

“Aye, indeed,” he said cheekily, joining her in observation for a moment. He kissed her jawline, then, with that somehow stately loping gait, made his way over to a guest who demanded his opinion on some business or another. 

So Amy wove herself in and out of conversations throughout the room: complimenting Paula Sterm’s gown, asking the very expectant Mrs. Smith if she desired a fan or some water, encouraging Mr. Sutton to send his daughter over to play the piano whenever she liked. 

Given a spare moment, she slipped into the kitchen to thank the cook and the three servants for the feast they had prepared; her guests extolled the roast beef and sang the cake’s praises during and after the meal. 

Stepping inside, she found Jo, flushed and lively, though not as disheveled as she had been at the occasional party she attended in her youth, eating ice cubes from a delicate glass bowl much like the one in which strawberry ice cream had been served (along with the cake) earlier in the evening. 

“Oh! Amy!” she exclaimed when she saw her. She, like her androgynous other half, complimented Amy’s ball-throwing skills, and though there was no employment of the word “capital” to describe the party, the sentiment was absolutely present. 

“Thank you,” Amy said, coming to her side and stealing an ice cube. “It was the right thing to do, postponing it,” she added, dabbing her own flushed cheeks delicately with the ice. 

Jo, mouth full of cubes, gave her a knowing look. Sometimes Amy had to remind herself Jo was not the eldest, as authoritative and surprisingly wise as she was.

“If you’re enjoying it so much, why are you in here?” Amy asked after a long and comfortable silence. Jo swallowed a particularly slippery ice cube. 

“Well, dancing hadn’t started yet, and I was already practically boiling, so I thought it best to take a brief respite to cool myself.” She looked nice, Amy thought, wearing a deep blue dress - corset-less as always, and with newly-cropped hair that didn’t exactly match the sweeping updo’s many of the other ladies wore. Amy still wished she could have had more opportunities to “fix” Jo than in a bumpy, damp carriage on the way to the train station, but had to concede her looks, defiant and patchworked and unique as the were, still outshone some of the stiffest and most well-put-together ladies in Massachusetts. 

“And your dance partner?” Amy asked, curious and careful, finding a towel to dry her now chilly fingers. 

“He found someone else who speaks Russian, so they are debating Napoleon's march into Moscow.” She scooped the last ice cube onto her spoon and into her mouth. 

“I see.”

“Don’t make fun!” she said, and now Amy took on the role of her own husband, cutting Jo off with an amused and loving “I’m _not_!” 

Just then, Laurie, loose limbs and loose cravat and all, appeared in the doorway to tell them dancing was to begin shortly, smiling at the sight of the two of them. 

“My lady,” he said, kissing Amy’s cheek and offering her his arm. 

“My sister,” he said, turning to Jo, and as Amy took his arm, she watched with affection as Jo’s face softened with girlhood and fraternity, only for a moment, before, as always, she playfully shoved his arm away, practically leaping out of the kitchen in search of a certain professor with an affection for languages and riotous dancing. 

So Amy and Laurie, lady and lord, thanked their staff and strolled out of the kitchen just as the first strains of a waltz began in the ballroom. 

“May I?” Laurie asked, taking her hand with that gorgeous boyishness he had always had, and Amy, won over and delighting in the romanticism of it all, obliged and led him to the floor. 

There were several more waltzes, so they took a break, Amy’s arm around Laurie’s waist, his around her shoulder, standing back and watching others dance and flirt and laugh. Then, more lively songs were played, and they spied Jo and Friedrich whirling, arm and arm, amongst the others. Amy caught Jo’s eye for a moment, and Jo, Jo who used to sit in the back so they wouldn’t see her cry, Jo who had to be gently pushed into confessing her feelings, gave her a look so openly filled with joy that Amy laughed out loud a little, pulling Laurie along with her to join in the cavorting. 

At one point, he kissed her wildly, and Amy threw herself into him like she had in blue that day in France, forceful and laughing and in love with him, as she always had been. 

Dancing accelerated time, it seemed, and gradually, the various couples took their leave, thanking the Laurences for a splendid night. Jo and Friedrich were the last to depart, both of them with seemingly windswept hair and clothes loosened in ecstatic dancing, Friedrich following Jo with a look of understated adoration that suited him well. 

Laurie and Friedrich shook hands and embraced, and Amy and Jo held each other for a moment, Amy whispering “I’m glad you’re here.” Jo, master of words, said nothing but held her a little closer. 

They kissed each other’s cheeks, and then Jo stepped back and Friedrich embraced Amy, and then he took Jo’s hand and the two of them said a final goodbye as they left. 

Amy turned to Laurie, watching him watch them leave. Jo was saying something to Friedrich, so he was leaning over a little as they walked, their shoulders brushing against each other, Jo turning to smile up at him when he responded. 

“What are you thinking right at this moment?” Amy asked Laurie. It was not a wife’s jealous interrogation, rather a desire to see Laurie’s most intimate thoughts, not to scold or berate him, but in that ever-present pursuit of closeness, one that was achieved when she told him of her regret at being unable to say goodbye to Beth, or when he whispered his memories of his parents’ love late at night, somewhere on the brink of sleep. 

“Nothing in particular,” he answered, turning to look over at her after a moment. “The party, childhood, time.” She began to walk back into the house, still listening. He followed “How long ago it seems, and how different, to have wished to be the one to leave a party with Jo. How boring some of our neighbors are. How raucous dancing can become when paired with alcohol. How lovely you look. How I wished John and Meg were here so I had someone to hold more interesting conversation with than old Mr. Langsford.” 

Amy smiled, starting to gather up wine glasses and straighten out furniture that had been bumped into. Laurie stopped his list for a moment, and he looked at her knowingly, adoringly. 

“My lady, we _have_ hired others to help clean up.” 

“I know, I just wanted to lighten their load.” Beth would have done so. 

So Laurie gathered up a few plates and glasses too, and they set them in the kitchen, where the cook thanked them, and they thanked her again for such a delicious dinner. 

Then, they retired to their bedroom, revisiting the night’s events, and when they finally flopped into bed, Laurie turned on his side to face Amy. 

“Mrs. Laurence, how did I find myself lucky enough to marry you?”

She smirked. 

”You have a good eye, my lord.”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed (even a little bit), please leave kudos and a comment - both are much appreciated! Let me know what you thought and what other kinds of stories you’d like to read! Also feel free to check out the other four Little Women works I’ve written. 
> 
> The title "A Good Eye" was inspired by one of my favorite lines in "Much Ado About Nothing" from Act II, Scene I, when Beatrice says "I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight." In context, she's talking about seeing things as they are, which I think is very similar to Amy, but I used it for slightly more romantic reasons here. 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone!


End file.
